Elladan
by grecian
Summary: Blood, heat torment. How much could he suffer before giving in.
1. Chapter 1

Elladan

The heat rolled over him as the flap of the tent stirred in a gust of wind. Lifting his head from the sandy ground he saw a brief glare of brilliant daylight and then all was hot again as the flap closed. Near darkness filled the tent once more and Elladan let his head drop wearily. His own harsh breathing was all he could hear in that enclosed space and it reminded him of how unbearable his life had become. He curled his fingers in frustration and closed his eyes. Death would be a reprieve, but he knew that fate was never that kind. The minutes slipped by like sand through his fingers as he lay there on the gritty floor. His hands were staked to the ground by the wrists and his feet were tied at the ankles with thin woven rope, they cut into his skin with every movement, but that did not stop him from straining at his bonds so the ropes were stained brown with his blood. His body was sore and tired for it had been many days since he had lain there. His licked his dry lips as he tried to shift into a less uncomfortable position but pain spasmed up his back as grains of sand grated along his bruised skin. Groaning he turned his face to one side and stared into the gloom. He had lost count of the days, for each passed into the next without anything to mark the difference.

The desert that lay just beyond the walls of the tent was dry, vast and unchanging and it sucked the vitality from anything that dared to exist within its borders. But Ak' tun had not only survived but had forced from the harsh sands a kingdom for himself. He strode across the hot plains even as his manservant hurried towards him.

"My Lord," cried the man. "The storm comes, our encampment will be destroyed if we do not move quickly."

Several of the soldiers looked up from their chores to hear the exchange, they knew that their Lord was aware of the approaching storm and yet he had not commanded them to move. No one had said anything for their Lord was a harsh ruler. But Ah' med was old and had been with Ak' tun from childhood. In fact the old servant had served his father for more than twenty years, before passing into his service. Ak' tun looked amused for a moment then turned to the listening soldiers.

"Disassemble the camp,"

Men scrambled to and fro breaking down the sturdy tents that served as their homes as they travelled across the face of the wastelands raiding towns and hamlets that lay along the border. Great wealth had Ak'tun earned from trading in the flesh of human, hobbit, orc and dwarf, it was all the same to him. He cared not that he separated father from son, child from mother and friend from friend. The most piteous of pleas fell on deaf ears for Ak' tun heard only the sound of gold in his palms. Aside from this he had only one passion.

The men finished quickly for this was a common part of life on the great wastelands. But one tent still stood. It was smaller than the rest yet more lavish and it had stood apart from the others. The captain of the guards approached Ak'tun, "My Lord, we are finished but for the tent of your_ sha'abla._" he said bowing respectfully. Ak'tun looked across at the small tent and smiled, "Take the men home, this storm is but the first of many to come this season." He then looked deep into the dark eyes of his captain. "Bring him to me."

The captain summoned one other and together they walked swiftly to the small tent. He threw back the flap that covered the front and they entered quietly. The elf was lying on his back, his wrists, ankles, neck and chest staked securely to the ground, his only covering was a cloth draped across his loins. The captain heard his swift intake of breath as they entered and felt a moment's pity for the creature, but he knew as any other in the service of Ak'tun that disobedience meant death. The elf watched them closely as they approached. The captain saw him flinch as he drew a knife from his waist.

"This is not for you," the captain said quietly in Westron, " the storms come and we needs make haste, our master awaits."

The elf did not reply but this was not unusual. He had uttered not one word since they had captured him ten days ago during a bloody and vicious battle on the treacherous sands.

The captain quickly cut his bonds and Elladan bit his bottom lip to keep back a cry of pain as the blood surged into his limbs. They hauled him to his feet and quickly dressed him in voluminous robes that covered him from head to toe. Only his eyes were left free. His hands they tied behind his back and he was forced out into the hot desert before his body was ready. Sharp pain shot up his legs and he would have crumbled, but strong hands balanced him and forced him forward. His breathing grew harsh and erratic for he stumbled frequently and was jerked non too gently to his feet. He kept his head down and could only see no more than glimpses of sand for his eyes had grown unaccustomed to the light of the sun.

He smelled the horse before he saw it, but he caught no more than a glance at its legs before he was lifted swiftly onto its back. He was forced to sit sideways as his feet were once again restrained at the ankles. A thick robe was snaked around his waist and tied tightly at the small of his back. He felt suffocated, but he forced down the panic that came for someone mounted behind him and took hold of the rope. Gloved hands took the reins and Elladan heard a shout.

The thunder of a thousand hooves echoed across the desert as Ak'tun and his men raced across the wastelands.

But the wind and sand were not to be denied for they were the true kings of the desert. The wall of destruction rose up and rode on the heels of the fleeing men. Risking a look behind, the captain quaked with fear for the wave of sand was fifteen hands high. His ululating cry went up and as a body the men wheeled and formed a rough circle. They leapt off their horses and forced the animals to lie on the ground. Loosening their heavy cloaks they huddled next to their steeds and covered themselves and their animals' faces as best they could. Elladan was dragged from the horse onto the sand. A dark cloth was thrown over him cutting off his vision and he felt his enemy's body next to him. Immediately Elladan began to kick and struggle for he did not know what was happening but Ak'tun effectively imprisoned his head in a brutal hold.

"Keep still _di'alla_ I will not lose you to the sands." he shouted.

It was only then that Elladan began to hear the howl of the wind as the storm drew closer. But still he struggled for he was unaccustomed to the heavy veils and found it difficult to breathe through, but Ak'tun only held his head tighter. Pure panic surged through him then and his strangled cries joined the wailing of the wind.

The storm hit hard. The sand fell upon them burying them deep and fast, cutting through cloth and skin like knife blades. Elladan cried out as tiny pebbles as sharp as mithril sliced his arms and torso viciously. He twisted suddenly to escape the painful onslaught and take a burning breath, but his abrupt movement pulled him from Ak'tun's grasp and he began to slide down the long embankment on which they had stopped. He had a heart stopping moment of pure terror before a painful tug at his scalp stopped his momentum.

Ak'tun held on grimly, the elf's hair wrapped tightly around his fist, he was not about to loose his prize. Five men had he lost to gain this creature and he intended to take his recompense tenfold.

Around them the wind blew and blew and blew.

An hour passed and all that could be heard was the moaning of the wind as it blew west from the Deeplands. Ak'tun felt the elf go limp in his grasp and he cursed knowing that it was his own fault that they were caught like fish in a net, below the punishing sands.

Silence, it covered the desert like a blanket and for a long moment there was stillness on the plains. Then, as spirits rising from their graves the sands shifted and the men and horses struggled up from its choking depths. Flinging off the robes that covered him Ak'tun delved with both hands beneath the sand. The elf's hair was tangled like silken ropes in the coarse grit. With his bare hands Ak'tun began to dig.

The elf was still. The veils that would have kept the sands off his face had been torn off in his struggle. His mouth and nostrils were full of sand. His face had tiny cuts that bled. Ak'tun wasted no time. He rolled the elf onto his side and with his finger removed the sand that blocked his airways. Rolling him onto his back once more Ak'tun pinched his nostrils shut and covering the elf's mouth with his own breathed forcefully into his throat. Three times did he do this before the elf responded. It was with a explosive cough that the elf came back to life. Ak'tun held him upright as he wheezed and coughed, the sand that he had swallowed dribbled out of his mouth wetly. With the end of his robes Ak'tun wiped the elf's mouth tenderly. The elf who hands and feet were still tied slumped wearily against Ak'tun, who smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Elrohir

Heat, it burned through his clothing and into his flesh. A living breathing heat that sucked the breath from him and demanded his life. Yet he did not die though the last of his companions had, only three short hours before. He had simply stopped and sitting upon the heated ground, breathed his last. Elrohir had shed bitter tears for the ranger had been young, barely thirty summers. He had dug with his bare hands a hollow grave and committed to the merciless soil his body.

Elrohir staggered for the hundredth time in as many minutes but he did not fall. He could not, for his brother was captive somewhere in this punishing heat, in the hands of slavers, unfeeling men who dealt in blood, tears and death. He stopped suddenly as he saw a flash a long long way ahead.

"Elladan," he whispered, his dry tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth for a second. He swallowed but there was nothing wet there.

Doggedly he continued though he had no real idea of where he was going, for the Wastelands was a vast unchanging place, a place where nothing broke the unending fields of brown. You could see forever in this place and yet, there was nothing to see.

He carried no bag, no flask, or food but had been on the march for nine days, following his instinct and the vague signs left behind on the bare earth. But his mind drifted constantly for though he paid no heed to it his body had begun to cross that line that separated him from death. His skin was burned a dull red and no sweat broke from his pores to cool him. His hair was dry and brittle and blew like dead weed about him, his hands shook and his legs and chest burned for every breath was liquid fire in this place. His could hardly see for the sand had irritated his eyes to a swollen red.

That morning he did not hear when the wind changed its hum for it took all his energy to stay on his feet. But the wind picked up, whipping loose soil around him and he hunched his shoulders against it, not realizing that it was the harbinger of danger.

Oh Elrohir death comes on swift wings for thee!

In one bloodied hand was his sword, the scabbard long gone, how he could not remember. The other hand was pressed against his side, against the wound that had bled so ferociously, the wound that had caught Elladan's attention and left him vulnerable to them. Elrohir mistepped as his mind replayed the scene as it had done each day when guilt and remorse overwhelmed him.

_They had pushed back the raiders. The captives had been freed and had fled back to the border, but the raiders had not broken and run as the twins and rangers had expected them to. They had fought and were still fighting viciously, more willing to die it seemed than give up their precious cargo. So the dunedain and elves had had to pursue them, following them into the desert making sure that each man was dead. How could they know that a bigger more deadly force awaited them in the sands._

_Elladan, Elrohir remembered had been the first to see them, rising out of the ground like ghosts. He had shouted a warning urging them to retreat, but the desert men had surrounded them like carrion birds. _

_They had fought for their lives then, each man dealing with at least two raiders. He had seen Elladan cut down three, by then he himself had just killed his fourth. Then out of nowhere a blade had got past his defences and slid into his side as easily as it cut through bread. He had cried out more in surprise than pain, but it had been enough. He saw Elladan turn, his hazel eyes fierce with battle and concern. He saw his brother begin to run towards him, his mouth forming the sound of his name. Then something hit him hard on the head, the hilt of a sword, the hand of a friend, the fist of an enemy, he did not know, but Elrohir went down the blade in his side sinking deeper into his flesh. But he saw, just before the blackness came, one more of the enemy cut down by his brother's blade, then he saw no more._

"Muindor nin." he whispered looking off across the desert. "I will find you."

But the Wastelands it seems had other plans. Behind him the wind had whipped the earth into a fine fury. It howled and danced with evil intent. Even as he walked it advanced...

The wall of sand buried him whole without a thought, without pity, another victim in its eternal cycle.

000

The captives had fled, running back to their villages to be greeted with tears of joy and laughter, and then tears of sorrow for those who had not survived the sands. But the survivors told the tale of their brave champions, those dark silent men, those rangers, who had fought for their freedom with such fierce determination, none of whom had returned from the desert.

"None you say," questioned the stranger with eyes shining strangely.

"Nay m'lord, nor' even the elf kind who rode with 'em." said a young man who held in his arms a sleeping babe. "They bid us flee, to not look back, to just keep going, and that's what we did."

"How long ago lad," asked another, his grey eyes sharp.

"Nigh on fifteen days now," said a woman quietly. She observed the four strangers clad in dark clothing of reds and oranges, armed with strange weapons, no secretive rangers these. They carried themselves with such unconscious grace. Elves, she guessed though their hoods covered their ears, searching for their friends. She was mostly right.

Their quest took the company to the village of Angam, it sat at the edge of the desert, a precarious balance of bustling life and silence, right where the green of the gardens gave way to the brown of the sands. There they learnt what they had feared to put into words.

"I saw them m'lord, they were cut down, even as we ran we could hear their screams..."

Aragorn strode angrily to the wooden fence that marked the boundaries of the village. "They cannot be dead, they cannot." he hissed turning to face the three elves that stood together watching him.

"Calm yourself, tithen pen. No one here believes that they are dead, we will continue to search." said the eldest. Then he looked past he young man to the shimmering desert beyond. "Though we must prepare ourselves, this journey will be long and hard, and we do not know what lies at the end."

The wastelands had given rise to many creatures of light and of shadow. They lived a wary existence each mindful of the other, each seeking to be the first to reap the meagre bounty that the desert grudgingly gave up from time to time. So it was that this creature, moulded by the harsh endless days of heat, stumbled across the buried elf while foraging in the wake of the storm. At first it hesitated, thinking the thing to be feigning death, but then, by prodding and probing, it triumphantly latched onto its prize and pulled it by the legs across the sands into its burrow. Elrohir's lids fluttered briefly as darkness pressed down upon him.


	3. Chapter 3

The Kingdom of Ak'tun

He woke to a strange sensation. It was pleasurable yet painful. Something soft pressed into his face, belly and thighs, creating a cradle of comfort for his body, yet his arms hurt so badly that the pain forced him into consciousness. Elladan opened his eyes. He lay on the ground on his side, a ground that was strewn with rich rugs and carpets, silk cloths and pillows. At first he could see only the hairs of the rugs that he lay on, but by raising his head he saw that he was in a large and beautifully cool tent that was decorated with sheer silken curtains and colourful damasks. He tried to get up then and realised that his arms were bound tightly behind him. He gently tested his bonds but it caused such pain that he gasped aloud. The manacles were made of iron and went from wrist to elbow, it in turn was attached by a long chain to an iron ring buried in the ground. A soft laugh from somewhere behind caused him to start. He turned swiftly ignoring the stab of pain that shot up his arms.

"You are awake my beauty." said Ak'tun watching as the elf tensed. He sensed that the creature was measuring him in the dim light of the tent. Ak'tun smiled, relaxing he poured himself a cup of wine from the carafe at his side. He saw the elf swallow involuntarily as he took a sip. Of course the creature was thirsty, he had been given meagre sips of water since his capture and no food at all. It was of course deliberate, for Ak'tun was well versed in the taming of wild things. The elf lowered his eyes to the floor as Ak'tun took another sip.

"Thirsty?" questioned the man.

There was no reply. Ak'tun briefly wondered if the elf spoke the language of men, but then he remembered that the elf had ridden with men. Stubborn then.

"I do not blame your caution, but you must understand that your old life is over. You belong to me now and you will learn to obey me _d'ialla_."

Elladan's head went up at the man's words, his heart burned with fury. Still he keep silent letting his eyes speak for him. The man approached him slowly. Elladan did not flinch, not even when the man stooped in front of him. Elladan could see the colour of his eyes, they were the dark green of the forests. His skin was a creamy brown and his features were noble like those of the dunedain of the western lands. Yet Elladan knew that evil lurked in his heart, horrible were the tales told of he and his men, for they not only raided the border towns, but killed wantonly as well, even children and babes in arms fell to their blades.

"What is your name?" the man asked softly. His voice flowed like soft silk to Elladan's ear, but Elladan did not answer. The man reached up a hand to caress his cheek, but he instinctively pulled back.

Anger filled Ak'tun and he slapped the elf hard, a vicious, open handed slap that rang loudly in the silence. The elf fell sideways onto the floor a sound of pain escaping him.

"Ah, so you do have a voice." hissed the desert man. "You will learn my, _sha'abla. _You will learn. When thirst and hunger become too much for you to bear, you will learn."

Alone in the dimness of the tent Elladan began to sob, quietly at first, his face buried in the rich fur, then louder as pain and weakness brought him low. He was hungry, so hungry that he was twisted up in painful knots inside, so thirsty that his throat burned with the desire for drink. He could smell the sweet scent of the wine, that still stood on the low table. It called to him, it made him tremble with need, but he could no more get up than he could stop his tears.

He cried for the loss of his brother, for he had seen him fall, a stunned look on his face a blade in his side. He cried for his father, for he would forever lament the loss of his sons. He cried for Aragorn, for he knew the headstrong young man would forsake his destiny in every attempt to avenge their death. And his sister, his dear sister he cried for her, for in the end she would be left alone, bereft of love and light. He cried in misery until he was spent, until his body had no more tears to give. Then he slipped into an exhausted sleep, a sleep haunted by nightmare shadows and pain.

Ak'tun approached the elf cautiously, but he was not feigning sleep. He knelt next to him taking in the length of his body and the fine tone of his legs and arms. The elf's hair which was waist long had spilled everywhere. It was thick and rich brown in colour. Ak'tun gathered the heavy weight of it in his hands and tucked it away. The elf's face was beautiful. Strong without being severe and so youthful, hairless. Ak'tun traced the tracks of his dried tears with one finger. And to think he had considered selling this creature. No, he was priceless, a treasure to be kept forever. He had always heard tales of the legendary strength and beauty of elves, but had scoffed at such stories, for in the desert, life was harsh and practical. But now, now he eagerly recalled every minute detail he had ever heard. He traced the contour of the creature's hip with his fingers.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

Water, it filled his mouth with its sweet taste before he was fully conscious. He gulped and spluttered trying to swallow and wake up at the same time. A horrid stench washed over him and he gagged, causing the water spill over his face. Something had a hold of him in the darkness, something that was covered with fur and smelled like rotted flesh. Elrohir tried to pull away but the thing growled and secured its grip on him. Water hit his face again and Elrohir swallowed ignoring the stench for he was thirsty.

The village for it could not be called a town had been put together with sticks and stone. The people, who looked mostly starved and wore threadbare garments hustled nervously out of the strangers way, for only hard men visited this place. It was a slaving post, a trading post, a place where anything could be bought and sold. Aragorn and Veren dismounted outside the only tavern. The other elves stayed on their horses, they would keep watch for in such a place anything could happen. Aragorn pushed the battered wooden door open and they entered. The place was mostly empty and smelled of stale drink and sweat. They walked over to the bar and occupied two stools.

"Hot day." Aragorn commented.

The tavern keeper eyed him warily. "Aye," he agreed cautiously.

"Ale, if you have it." Aragorn said.

"For ye both?" asked the keeper shooting a nervous glance at the elf.

"Yes," replied Veren, his voice deep and calm.

The old tavern keeper nodded and turned to fill two mugs to the brim.

"Two bits m'lords." he stuttered putting the foaming drinks in front of them.

Aragorn placed a silver coin on the counter. The keeper's eyes bulged. He wrung the dirty cloth in his hands nervously.

"How can I help ye sirs?" he asked.

"Slaves," said Aragorn bluntly, "we know they are sold here, we are interested in purchasing."

"Aye yes t'is so, but ye are too late sir, won't be no more for the season now that the storms have started. No more till the months of snows." said the old fellow shaking his head, he stared at the coin wistfully.

"We have travelled a long way my friend, surely you know of some place, someone..." said Veren. He placed another silver coin on the counter.

The tavern keeper swallowed. This was more money than he had seen in his lifetime, he found himself nodding vigorously. Slaves, yes, there were two places.


	4. Chapter 4

Sha'abla

It was not his fault that the elf almost died. He had never owned one before. He was used to dealing with men, women, and children, all of whom he had broken with ease. This creature neither begged nor cried, but sat every day motionless and silent while he ate and drank in front of it. He surmised mistakenly that the elf did not need sustenance at all, for he showed no interest in the delicious meals that Ak'tun deliberately displayed. Ak'tun asked the elf many questions, but they all went unanswered and one day frustration caused him to take a whip to the stubborn creature, but the elf curled into himself and took the beating with the merest of whimpers.

In disgust Ak'tun tossed the bloody whip aside and had left him alone for several days untended. But not even this distress or prolonged silence seemed to break the elf's fortitude. Ak'tun had to wonder at the creature's will. He longed to possess him, to know his every thought and desire, to know his weaknesses, to bring him from the proud being that he was to the lowest grovelling animal, willing to do anything and everything to please his master. But as days passed Ak'tun began to think that this would never be. Would he have to kill him after all?

The only thing that Ak'tun did not do was deprive the elf of water, for this seemed to be the only form of food it would take. The desert man left a bowl of water on the floor every night and every morning the bowl would be empty. This went on for quite some time.

But there came a morning that upon entering the tent he found the bowl full and the elf supine on the floor. The creature was shaking, trembling, its eyes half closed. Ak'tun at first was suspicious, but the elf was muttering, mumbling in such a delirious way that Ak'tun was suddenly afraid. He knelt at the elf's side but could not understand a word that he uttered. At last Ak'tun touched his forehead and found that the elf's skin was cold, cold as his father's had been when he took his last breath. Worried now Ak'tun took from his waist the key for the manacles. The elf's arms which were bloodied and bruised flopped lifelessly to his side. Ak'tun sat the elf upright.

"AH'MED, AH'MED," he called.

The old servant came hobbling through the heavy curtains. "My Lord..." he said.

"Fetch gruel quickly, quickly Ah'med."

The old man scurried for the urgency in his master's voice propelled him.

The penetrating scent of something delicious penetrated his delirium, Elladan groaned, yearning for the taste of it, needing the feel of it in his belly and knowing that it was not to be... and yet there was something at his lips, a wetness that tasted of meat and something more and then it was there in his mouth. He swallowed voraciously, blindly suckling on the fingers that fed him. So great was his hunger, that he sobbed even as he ate. He whimpered when pain flared from his too long empty stomach, but the pain from the rest of his body was far worse and he continued swallowing the thin gruel as though it was the finest meal in all of Arda.

Triumphant Ak'tun patiently fed the elf who groaned and tossed in pain as he ate in fits and starts. Through a foolish lack of knowledge he had come close to losing his precious prize. He would have to be very very careful in future. Ak'tun adored beautiful things and he collected them with a passion that bordered on obsession and this elf he considered to be his greatest find so far. But it seemed that the creature though hardy was more delicate that he had thought.

"Ah'med," he said softly to his servant when the elf had passed into a kind of sleep. "Wash him and have him moved to the bed."

"As you wish my lord." replied Ah'med though inside he groaned for the fate of the elf. To treat a fellow being in such a way! King Arjun would never have allowed it! But Arjun was dead, ten years dead and his son ruled the kingdom with a fist of iron.

0

The warm water cosseted his weary body and made him relax as he could not do when fully awake. There was a faint but pleasant humming somewhere nearby. Though he did not recognise the melody, the rhythm of it carried him back to the time when his mother would sing him to sleep as she stroked the hair at his temple. She would smile at him as she sang. He remembered the lilt of her voice and the way weight of his brother would be a warm bundle at his back, already asleep.

"Naneth," he whispered, his fingers grasping at the arm that held him.

Though Ah'med did not understand the elven tongue, he knew that the youth had called out to his mother.

"Sleep child, for the morrow will be worse than today." he said in his own tongue.

Then he continued to hum the lullaby that he had sung to Ak'tun, when he had been but a babe.

000

A stinging slap to the face brought him out of his stupor. Gasping, Elrohir flew upright. His tormentor, whom he could barely see in the half shadowy light was a burly shaggy, smelly type of animal. Exactly what type Elrohir could not tell, but the beast pointed to a broken bowl on the floor with one ragged paw. Elrohir looked and saw a piece of pottery filled with some mushy, brown congealing mess. His stomach revolted but he clapped a hand to his mouth to stem the compulsion. Again the animal slapped him hard.

It grunted at him, indicating once more the jagged bowl. Elrohir reached out and took up the distasteful looking slush. Raising it, he sniffed at it. Surprisingly it smelt rather good. Being hungry for the first time in a long while, he scooped a fingerful into his mouth. The taste of honey surprised him and he hurriedly ate the rest. He licked the bottom of the bowl until it was quite clean. All the while the animal observed him. Elrohir had got quite used to it doing this. It had given him water for three days until he was able to sit up and drink from the skin himself. It had also pushed raw meat and then insects at him, but Elrohir could not bring himself to touch any of it.

Every day the animal would disappear for hours on end leaving the elf in the hot dark hole out of which he could not get, for there appeared to be no door or window, even though the animal clearly got in and out with no trouble. At first Elrohir had panicked, but the beast returned faithfully every day. At first he had tried speaking to it, but the beast had growled at him and cuffed him soundly on the head. Silence then. The thing slept for many hours at a time and so would Elrohir, for he felt very tired and very sore and there was not much else to do in this underground chamber but sleep and heal, besides the beast clearly had no intention of letting him go. He had even got used to the stench after a few days...

00

The fire that they had built was for Aragorn's sake, for the nights were cold in the desert, but the dunadan felt no comfort from its flickering flames. Two towns had they visited and none of them yielded any hint as to the whereabouts of his brothers. No one remembered any elves among the slaves recently sold, that, they had said was a sight never seen in these distant lands.

Aragorn looked up into the clear sky. Seeing the stars shining so brightly, he remembered how Elrohir would tell him the names of them all, over and over again on those nights when they would sit in the garden when he was just a little boy.


	5. Chapter 5

Tariq

Three days of constant care brought Elladan back from the brink of mortality. But it was a changed elf that recovered. Something important had gone from him. And so it was that he did not fight on the eighth day when he was bathed and anointed with sweet oils. He did not protest as they dressed him in fine silks and gold. He said nothing when the Mithril collar was placed around his neck and secured to a thick chain. There was no murmur when they took each wrist and bound them together with finely wrought silver cord. They painted his lips and around his eyes. They perfumed his hair and brushed the length of it till it shone. He knew, he knew without ever being told what his fate would be. He had seen it in the desert man's eyes when he looked at him. He had heard it in the eagerness of his voice when he spoke to him. He did not know if he could bear such a thing, but he had promised himself that he would kill this man and thus avenge his brother whose bones must lie somewhere out there in the desert, picked clean by scavengers and bleached to an awful white by the sun. The sudden anguish came from the depths of his being and the sob escaped his lips before he could stop it. But he was alone now, alone and waiting.

Ak'tun could feel his body grow warm as his servants bathed and dried the elf. His hands longed to touch the smooth unblemished skin and feel the fine muscles tremble beneath them, for you see, he had one abiding passion and the elf embodied the epitome of his lust. Many had passed through his hands. Some had survived, but most had died, for he was, you must understand, very demanding and they had been young and fragile. Not so the elf, he had proved beyond a doubt that he could withstand hardship and punishment. The elf would never grow coarse and ungainly, and most importantly it would live forever, certainly until the end of his days. As they girded the silken cloth around the elf's loins Ak'tun trembled. He could not wait.

000

It would be evening now and Gaedor would be stoking the fire in the Great Hall. The wine would be mulled and have just the correct tartness. There would be cooked meats and bread, sweet savouries and that awful sour treat that his father loved so much. Elladan usually served the wine preferring to drink his in the solitude of the garden than indoors. But he and Elrond would sit and talk for hours.

"Adar," he whispered as he woke from the dream into the stifling heat of his prison.

He coughed, for the air was stale and stank. His body was covered with sweat and he could smell himself. Never before in his long life had he been so miserable. If he had he could not remember it. He tugged lethargically at the thick and sturdy rope around his ankle, not with any real hope of escaping, but because it was something to do to keep himself from falling into a chasm of despair from which he would never climb.

After a week, or was it more, he had finally discovered a way out of this death chamber, but as fate would have it, the beast had chosen that very moment to return from his day's foray. With no more than a startled grunt the beast had fallen upon him with a growl. Elrohir had lost the fight before it had even begun. The weight of the creature knocked the breath out of his body and stunned him and up close the stench of the creature was even more unbearable. Choking and gagging, Elrohir had been dragged unceremoniously by the heels deeper inside the chamber.

For the first few days Elrohir had screamed and shouted at the animal, pulling and tugging frantically at the rope around his ankle. But the beast had ignored him, appearing only once every day to leave him a bowl of food and water. As time passed Elrohir had calmed and when the creature did appear he said and did nothing.

He rolled over onto his stomach, laying his cheek on the rough sandy floor. He began to trace idle patterns with his finger in the sand, he wondered if he would ever see the sun again. How could he hope to find his brother in the Great Desert if he could not even free himself from this creature.

Tariq, for that was the creature's name, watched the thing carefully until it fell into an uneasy sleep. It was such a puzzle this thing. Noisy and demanding, it had very nearly crawled outside to certain death. In fact Tariq had thought the thing dead when she had dragged it to her den, thinking to harvest it as food, but the thing had breathed still and Tariq, who was not an evil creature despite her appearance, had nurtured it till it had recovered. It was a energetic as a youngling, many times she had had to discipline it when it would not eat and tried to go outside. Outside, Tariq knew,was dangerous. Had not every one of her young ones been hunted and killed by the desert men. Even this creature had been hunted by them. She had recognized the blade in the creature's body and had pulled it from the wound herself, licking at the spot until the blood had stopped.

At first she had thought it to be man, but the scent of it was different and it spoke differently, not the harsh sounds that men normally made, but something softer, more pleasant. She wondered sometimes exactly what it was, but it was not really important. She would care for it as she did for her young, because it was pitifully weak. It should not be out there under the fierce sun, where the desert men could hunt it down. So saying Tariq shrugged her massive body and giving a great yawn curled into a great ball and fell asleep. She dreamed of the nights of coolness, when the winds ceased and the desert grew quiet and she could run free.

00

Veren walked a short distance from the group. The falcon circled once then dropped to his outstretched arm. He unrolled the scroll. It was a short note in Glorfindel's crisp handwriting. Elrond it seemed had finally gotten word of his sons' disappearance, was there any news.

News... Veren scowled disgustedly and crumbled the note in his hand. Not only had they no news but Aragorn had taken ill with fever. Hurriedly, he scribbled a reply on fresh parchment and rolling it tightly attached it to the bird's leg. He watched the falcon until it grew small in the sky. Sighing he returned to the camp fire where Aragorn lay on a bed of blankets and cloaks. He was in no mortal danger, for the elves in this company were skilled in the art of healing and war, but it seemed that an ill omen hung over their quest for in every village so far there had been no news of the twins. In one small town there had been a slave auction in progress as they rode in.

" Last 'o the season." they had been informed.

They had bought a young boy who was obviously from one of the border towns but the youth had not been among those last captured and thus could not help them. It seemed that the sons of Elrond had vanished without a trace from the face of Arda.

That night Aragorn dreamed a terrible dream. Heat suffused his body and his skin was slick with sweat. There was a terrible pain in his bowels. There was a monotonous movement, a movement that rocked him back and forth in a dreadful rhythm and drove him deeper and deeper into despair. He would have screamed but his mouth was smashed against folds of soft cloth and they ate the sound before it could be born. They was a guttural grunting somewhere near him, he could feel his body tremble, he could feel his soul cringe, but there was nothing he could do, nothing... but it hurt so, it hurt...

Aragorn began to wail long before the dream ended, and though Veren held him and comforted him, he would not stop.


	6. Chapter 6

Ah'med

"He is dying! He is dying, we must find him, we must go." Aragorn forced out between sobs. He pushed away Veren's hands from his fevered forehead and wet cheeks, caught up in the urgency of his vision. But Veren caught his trembling fingers.

"What have you seen pen'neth, where is he?" asked the elf softly.

"It... it is dark, there is no air. He cannot breathe. It hurts, it hurts." Aragorn cried hysterically and then collapsed into unintelligible sobbing. Veren rocked him, murmuring soothing words that seemed to calm him somewhat. The others stood by unnerved by Aragorn's rantings, they looked about them uneasily, but there was nothing out there but sand and sun. They were camped in the lee of a sand dune under a tent of their own making. It effectively keep off the sun and sand, but they were woefully exposed to attack should it come.

"My lord," began Celebrin, but Veren waved him silent for Aragorn was at last quieting. He made a motion with his fingers telling Celebrin that they would talk outside.

Gelydh climbed to the top of the dune lay flat down. He would keep watch on their back trail. He turned and waved briefly at Celebrin, letting him know that all was clear.

But Celebrin did not return the gesture, he felt that time was running out, both for themselves and the twins. They must find them soon, or not at all. He turned as Veren stepped out from under the tent.

"My lord Veren," he said quietly.

00

Time had stopped and all sensation with it. It seemed that everything had come to an end quite suddenly. He could not hear or see or feel. Their was a numbness in his soul that crept outward to his skin. He knew that he was bleeding, but he could feel no pain. His lips were swollen, but he could not remember why. He could not feel his legs or feet. He could not move. Everything seemed so dim, almost as though all the light and colour had faded away. Where was he?

"Adar, ya ier le?" he whispered.

Ak'tun felt the joy of the hunter when his prey lies still at his feet. He carelessly caressed the elf's back and thighs, tracing the bleeding scratches he had made, with a stained finger. The scent of the creature's blood assured him of his domination.

"Ah'med!" he called.

The old servant hustled in and bowed low, deliberately avoiding the sight of the bloodied elf.

"See to him," he commanded.

"Yes my lord." replied Ah'med bowing lower.

Ak'tun stood and pulled on a robe to cover his nakedness. "Call me when he awakens," he said.

"As you wish my lord." replied the servant.

When the king had left, Ah'med collected a soft cloth and a basin of water. It would be cruel to immerse the young elf in a bath of sweet salts so soon.

Ah'med did not know where to begin, there was blood on the elf's legs and back, there were bleeding scratches on his hands and neck and other fluids on his buttocks and in his hair. His thick hair was a tangled dirty mass now, flecked with blood and soaked with sweat. The old man bent to smooth wisps of hair from the elf's face and was surprised to see his hazel eyes open. He had been so still that Ah'med had thought him asleep. But there was no emotion in that beautiful face and Ah'med felt his heart squeeze painfully, he had witnessed this too many times before.

Ever so gently he wiped his arms, back and legs. He cleaned his face and feet. The torn strips of silk he removed from around his waist. Though he knew he was not supposed to Ah'med unwound the silver cord from around the elf's wrists.

For a second there was a flicker in the elf's eyes and Ah'med felt a trace of fear, but the elf did not move, not even when the old man turned him onto his back to clean his chest and belly. But Ah'med was very careful when he began to clean between the elf's legs for he knew that the place there must be torn and tender. But it was this very fact that caused the first tear drop to appear, soon there was a flood that could not be stopped and Ah'med found himself cradling the elf in his arms and crooning to him softly. It was not first time that he had had to do this.

"Hush, child..." soothed the old man. "Ah'med is here, Ah'med will take care of you."

But it was a long time before Elladan could.

"What is your name child," asked the old man gently, when the tears had all but stopped.

"Elladan," whispered the elf...

Ak'tun did not return that evening, but he did the next day and the day after and the next... By the tenth day Elladan could not help the tremor that went through him whenever he heard the soft tread approaching.

000

The youngling was ill, Tariq surmised. It had not eaten in two days, no matter how many times she cajoled him. He was leaning against the wall quietly watching her with dull eyes. She snuffed at him pushing her nose against his private places smelling for infection, but he smelt good. She leaned back tilting her head in a questioning manner.

Elrohir did not protest when the bear-thing, for this is what she most closely resembled, butted him with her massive head. He did not much care what she did any more for he had come to the realization that he would spend the rest of his days beneath the sands, away from the sun and the trees, far from home and family, never hearing the sound of laughter or feeling the wind on his face. It would be so until the thing died or he did, or the rope around his ankle rotted away, whichever came first. But that would take many years, years that he felt he did not have.

"Elladan, I have failed you my brother." he said to himself.

000

They took lodgings in the first good sized town they came to. They needed fresh supplies and a place out of the sun and high winds. Aragorn's fever did not abate until two days had passed. By then they had already ascertained that no slaves had passed through the town within the last four months. Though he did not want to admit they had failed, Veren knew that as soon as Aragorn was well enough to travel they would return to Imladris.

00

Having muddled out the problem slowly in her mind and in her usual tangled fashion Tariq came to a decision. She caught hold of the youngling. He struggled so, but she held him firmly around the waist. Easily she snapped the thick vine rope that had fettered him so securely. She half crawled, half walked all the way down the long dark passageway, then up and up.

Elrohir could hardly breathe, so overpowering was the stench of the creature. His head bumped quite a few times against the rocky walls as they climbed. She was holding him upside down so that soon he was quite dizzy.

He fell heavily to the ground, winded he groaned and wondered what new trial was in store for him. But then sweet wind caressed his face and he gasped in wonder. Looking up he saw so clearly the light of the stars that suddenly he began to laugh, a mad and happy sound that travelled far in the night.

The beast watched in awe as the youngling capered about wildly, arms flinging every which way, even more interesting and beautiful was the silvery sound that bubbled from him as he danced and danced. Tariq sat back on her haunches and barked out her own cry of happiness.

00000

Adar, ya ier le------Father where are you


	7. Chapter 7

The Thief

"Noooooo!" Elrohir screamed as Tariq dragged him back towards the darkness of the den.He kicked ineffectively at her massive paw. She paused, swatted away his foot and then began the inexorable pull. Almost crying Elrohir flipped over onto his stomach and clawed at the sand, reaching toward anything to stop. But the strength of Tariq was too much and the sand slipped away beneath his fingers.

"Please," he screamed. "I will die in there PLEASE."

Of all the words that Tariq had heard from the voice of men, please was the one word that she remembered. It was the sound of sorrow and of terror. It was the sound uttered in pain and despair. Abruptly Tariq dropped the elf's feet. In shock, he scrambled to a crouch. Breathing hard he stared at her. His face was dirty and streaked with tears. His clothing was torn and filthy. The long hair that covered his scalp was tangled and hung in clumps about his shoulders. Tariq felt deep sorrow, how could she make him understand. Above ground was dangerous, wicked men killed and maimed.

Elrohir tensed as the big bear thing rose to her full height. She towered over him. Her huge paws descended and he flinched as she took him by the shoulders. She opened her mouth in a fierce growl and he saw the long pointed teeth that lined her jaws. So filled with trepidation was he that when, instead of attacking, Tariq began to speak, he almost fainted.

000

They caught him just he slipped the bridle over the horse's head. Veren grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. Growling in anger, he drew his sword. The thief's eyes grew large as two angry elves backed him up against the stable walls and a sharp blade was held against his throat.

Tell me why I should not end your life." said one of them.

"Well," said the thief in his most pleasant voice, "I can help you find the ones that you seek."

The elves were taken aback, but only for a moment.

"How can this be, there have been no slaves brought through here these last months."

"Ah, but I have not been here these last months. I have recently come from the Kingdom of Sands and there were rumours of a slave, a special slave, kept by the king in his secret chambers, one taken from the border lands."

"Only one?" questioned the other elf.

"It could be two..." said the thief.

0

The thief stumbled as he was pushed roughly into the room the elves had rented. There was someone in the sole bed. A young man with long dark hair, he was coughing wetly as they entered. There was an elf at his side who looked up as they entered.

"He has caught the chill of the Empty lands. I've seen many die of it." commented the thief.

"That is not your concern." said the one directly behind him. "Your concern is to tell us what we need to know, for you will not leave this room, save by my leave."

If the words and the chilling tone in which which they were said frightened the thief, he did not show it. Instead he produced his most beatific smile and proceeded to speak.

The thief though dishonest was no liar, and before he finished his tale Veren knew they might already be too late to save the twins. The Kingdom of Sands lay many leagues across the wastelands and already four cycles of the moon had passed and another was in its first quarter. If the tales of the barbaric and ruthless ruler of that land were true, then the twins could be dead or worse.

"You will take us there." Veren said to the thief in a voice that brooked no argument.

"I would be delighted." said the thief, for clearly he had no choice.

000

Obey, it was a word that Ah'med had pressed upon him with such urgency that Elladan had been shaken by it.

"Please," the old man has begged, "please do everything that is asked of you. I know that it is hard, but he will hurt you."

At that Elladan had given a sad smile.

"I know child, I know, he has hurt you badly already. But you must listen to me, there is much more that he could do, so much more."

Elladan had looked into the old man's eyes then. The knowledge of horror that lay in their depths frightened him.

0

Having satisfied his lust at last, Ak'tun needed to satisfy his curiosity about the elf. He questioned him ceaselessly about his life and his people. He wanted to know about his mother and father. He wanted to know of wars and legends. He demanded knowledge of their customs and rites. And though the elf spoke unhesitatingly, Ak'tun felt, no, he knew that the elf was not telling all.

"How old are you?" Ak'tun whispered one late afternoon. He sat close to Elladan, so close that Elladan could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. So close that Elladan could smell the slightly sweet, scent of his body. Ak'tun fingered the chain that ran from the collar around the elf's neck to the iron stake in the ground. It was so thin this chain. So thin, yet unbreakable, woven from a silver metal that he had stolen from the southern lands, the lands from whence came this creature.

Elladan hesitated a little before answering.

"I am five hundred years old." he whispered.

"HUNDRED," Ak'tun exclaimed. His fingers slipped from the chain to cup the elf's chin. Brusquely he tipped the elf's face upward.

So close were they that Ak'tun's breath stirred Elladan's hair. The brilliant green eyes of the desert man were wide in awe. His finger traced a path over Elladan's lower lip, then skimmed his jaw.

"Five hundred years." breathed Ak'tun.

And there was no sign of aging, no blemish, no flaw. Ak'tun let his fingers trail through the length of the elf's hair. Thick and rich, there was no silver to mark the count of years, no corruption anywhere on his form. And so he would be for all time with the blush of youth upon him, while Ak'tun would wither, pale and rot.

Elladan saw the desert man's eyes grow dark as some forceful emotion took him. Abruptly Ak'tun stood, causing Elladan to fall back with the force of the movement. Elladan stayed very still as Ak'tun loomed over him. What dark thoughts chased through his head Elladan could not guess, but a certain dread caught hold of him. Swiftly Ak'tun turned and left the room, but just as quickly returned. In one hand dangled the heavy manacles that Elladan had been forced to wear for so many long days and nights. But it had been weeks since Ak'tun had removed them. It could mean only one thing. But Elladan could not go back to being that vulnerable. He grew tense as Ak'tun drew closer.

"Give me your hands," said the desert man.

Obey, obey, obey, the word beat at him like a fluttering bird but Elladan could not. "No," he whispered shaking his head and his heart began to race. But Ak'tun only smiled.

The encounter was swift and brutal. Not only was Elladan hampered by the fetters around his neck but by months of abuse and hardship. Legs that could once run swiftly over mountains and plains were weakened by months of inactivity. Arms that could once wield a sword tirelessly, trembled as Elladan fought for his life.

A blow to the side of his head stunned the elf and Ak'tun took the opportunity to deal him two swift lashes to the face.

Entangled in silks and rugs Elladan could not hope to win.

0

Breathing heavily Ak'tun stumbled back from the downed elf.

'Such fire, such spirit, such passion.' he thought, proud of his possession. Still, he should teach him a lesson, he would not accept defiance

0

Screams filled the secret corridors that were kept from common eyes, but Ah'med hurried forward almost faster than his old legs could manage. He knew better than any other servant in the palace, what those screams meant.

Ah'med stopped just inside the doorway, gasping for breath, one old hand pressed to his heaving chest. The elf was stretched out full length on the ground, his ankles secured to stakes in the ground. But his hands, oh his hands. Ak'tun had imprisoned them in a solid iron device from which there was no escaping. And while the elf screamed and writhed Ak'tun was unhurriedly sawing through the flesh of his wrists. Blood was pooling rapidly on the ground as the knife went back and forth.

"My Lord," stuttered Ah'med frightened at his own boldness, yet unable to stop. Ak'tun stopped in mid stroke and looked up at him. There was a pitiful gurgle of pain from the elf that ended in hiccuping sobs. Ak'tun's hands were covered in blood and there was a strange light in his eyes. He tilted his head questioningly at his servant.

"I heard noises my lord." Ah'med said nervously.

Ak'tun continued staring at him silently.

Ah'med licked his lips, his eyes darting from his master's bloody hands to the elf and back again. This was a dangerous path upon which he had embarked, but it was too late now.

"I... I thought you might require assistance my lord." Ah'med said softly.

For a brief moment Ak'tun remained still, but then he smiled at his terrified servant. He stood, the blood soaked knife still in his hand.

"Yes Ah'med, you are correct. The elf is filthy, clean him ."

"Yes, my lord." said Ah'med bowing low.

Without another word or even a backward glance Ak'tun left. Blood dripped from the knife he carried. He seemed not to hear the keening sobs behind him, or else not to care.


	8. Chapter 8

The Last Day

"Help me, you must help me." Elladan said softly as Ah'med wound the bandages around his injured wrists. But Ah'med did not answer, nor did he raise his head. He pointedly concentrated on wrapping the swollen flesh beneath his fingers. Around and around wound the soft cloth.

"Would you have me become one of them?" Elladan stated, indicating with a slight thrust of his chin the servants that slid about them silently as they went about their various duties. They were all young men and they were badly maimed for the most part. Some lacked pieces of their limbs; others bore nasty scars from whippings and other punishment. There was one who was blind, his eyes having been damaged from repeated beatings. They all bore the brand of Ak'tun on their left shoulder. It was a cruel mark, a falcon in full flight, branded deep into the skin.

Ah'med's hands slowed, he did not need to look around to acknowledge what Elladan had said. He had been the one to tend to all their wounds, to comfort then as they cried, some for their mothers, some for death. Yet he could not look into the eyes of the elf. As he continued to fuss with the bandages Elladan curved his fingers around Ah'med's gnarled ones. Ah'med froze, he stared as though in fright at the long, slender digits that encompassed his own. Against his will Ah'med gaze was drawn upward. There was such pain in those hazel eyes that Ah'med's breath caught in his throat. But he could not disobey his lord. He could not go against his King's wishes. All his life he had catered to Ak'tun's every whim, how could he change now…

000000

Ashamed and angry with himself, Ak'tun stayed away from the elf for nine days. Instead he haunted the corridors, hiding behind the damask silks that hung from the ceiling. He peered out at the elf as Ah'med tended to him. He did not hear any of Elladan's words nor did he see the look that passed between them. But he knew that he hated watching Ah'med with the elf. He longed to be the one soothing his broken hands, murmuring comforting words.

'But how could you when you caused the pain yourself.'

Ak'tun growled impatiently at this errant thought. It was the elf who caused him to become angry, with his stubborn will and proud look.

Ak'tun peered through the slight space between the drapes. His breathing quickened as he watched the elf toss his head. The creature's hair seemed to move as though alive, it undulated, flicked against his shoulder and then settled against the bare skin of his back. Ak'tun could almost feel the weight of it in his hands. His exhaled breath was loud enough to reach Elladan's ear. Elladan went unnaturally still listening to Ak'tun breathe. But it seemed the desert man had sensed his awareness, for soon enough Elladan heard his footsteps stealthily receding.

With a soft sigh of relief Elladan relaxed. It was quiet, for the servants had withdrawn and even Ah'med had gone. He made fists of his hands then unclenched his fingers. There was little pain from his wrists. Nearly healed. Almost absently he reached up and touched the collar around his neck, his eyes seemingly lost in thought. Looking at him one would have thought him chastened, more inclined to quick obedience now. But there was a cold anger burning in Elladan that one could not see, an anger that demanded the spilling of blood and the heat of revenge. Slowly his hazel eyes lost their introspective glaze, he turned and looked towards the doorway.

00000000

There was the heat of fever burning in Aragorn's eyes, yet he sat his mount steadily. The thief stole many glances at him as they rode across the desert, for as the only human among the elves, he had thought that the young man would make a pleasant companion. But he was even quieter and in some ways stranger than they. He never seemed to grow tired or feel hunger. Neither did he speak the language of men, but spoke in the elves strange, musical tongue. A sudden piercing look from the object of his interest made the thief drop his gaze. This was turning out to be a most uncomfortable journey.

00000000

Even the air was hot, and the hide was itchy and heavy on his back. Sweat ran in rivulets down his spine. His eyes were permanently squinted against the glare of the sun. Now he shaded his eyes a little as they stopped and he carefully scanned the plains. Heat shimmered up from the surface of the desert floor on the horizon. He could see little puffs of sand and grit hop and skip along as the wind rose and died. But that was all, no animal or person moved across the plains. His mouth was dry and his belly empty, but he knew that there was an oasis of life just beyond his vision.

Tariq was a warm and solid mass between his legs. Her fur was rough and matted and stank, but his fingers were effectively intertwined in it. What had transpired between them, no one would know, not for a long count of years, but words had been exchanged and communication effected. They moved as one animal now, an animal with a single purpose.

000000

Aragorn felt they were out of time. During his days of fevered slumber, it seemed to him that Elladan came to him. But how changed he appeared, so pale he seemed and broken. His eyes shone with pain so deep that it hurt to look at him. Gone was the stern and steadfast brother that he had always known. This was but his shadow and it was fading fast. The last time he had appeared he gave something to Aragorn. It was a plain band forged of silver, "What is this?" Aragorn had asked turning it over in his hands. But Elladan had placed a pale hand over his, stilling the movement. Puzled Aragorn had looked up to see a sad smile touch his brother's lips.

"It is something to remember me by." Elladan said and with that he had gone and no more did he haunt Aragorn's dreams.

0000000

Ah'med carefully set the table for his lord's evening meal. Ak'tun was silent and introspective and for this Ah'med was glad because his heart was in turmoil. Everywhere he turned he would see the eyes of the elf. Though he felt his pain and sorrow, how could he betray his master? Not only was disobedience going against the very fibre of his being, but he had witnessed the mercurial temper of Ak'tun. The king demanded loyalty always, to betray him in the slightest thing meant certain death. Ak'tun would cut him down without a hint of mercy, should he attempt to free the elf.

'And is that any sort of life to cherish, old man?'

The question stung, and quickly he buried it deep in his mind without giving an answer. No, he would not disobey his master.

0000000

There was muted light in the room. The window were heavily draped. The air was warm and moist. A heavy silence lay over everything. How many days had gone? How many lifetimes. He had almost forgotten the feel of the wind on his skin, the smell of it when it rained, the touch of it in a storm. Would he ever see the stars in the blueness of night when all was a joyful music of sound and dance and freedom. This was not life, at least not for him, there was nothing left to live for anyway, no one to share it with. What he had become was unnamable, nothing more than a thing possessed. With a silent cry he closed his eyes and his head drooped onto his breast…


	9. Chapter 9

Final

Darkness, shadows, heat, he could hear his own breath as he fled down the secret corridors. His feet he had left bare so that the tell tale flop of his soft slippers would not announce his presence. Fear and a tentative boldness burgeoned in his breast. His breath rushed from his mouth due to the unaccustomed exertion. A right, a left and then another right and he was there. Squeezing the small object clutched in his hand, he paused. What madness had buoyed him thus far deserted him then.

Silently he stood in the shadows, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. And there amid a bed of rugs, the object of his quest.

The elf was asleep, sprawled uncomfortably, limbs glistening in the darkness. The man watched him for a moment seeing the rise and fall of his chest, the restlessness of his dreams as his fingers twitched. But even in sleep the elf seemed to sense his presence for his eyes which were mostly closed opened fully. And with that the man knew there was no changing his mind.

Startled, Elladan gasped as a shadow detached itself from the darkness.

"No," he cried, but the shadow stumbled forward, hands outstretched. Cold fingers covered his lips,

"Quiet child, It is me Ah'med." Ah'med shushed him with trembling fingers. He knew that Ak'tun had visited the elf mere hours before and was now deep in satiated slumber, yet they could waste no time. He fumbled at the collar around Elladan's neck. There was a scratch and an almost inaudible snap and then the shining band fell away. It dropped heavily yet without a sound onto the thick rugs underfoot. Paralysed for a moment they stared at each other and then Elladan's fingers crept up to his neck.

"Come," whispered Ah'med grasping the seeking digits. "Time is against us."

000000

The power of the bear thing was tremendous. She ripped the head off the massive reptile in one swift swipe. The blood gushed hot and thick from its body to bathe Elrohir in its rich redness. He opened his mouth and drank deeply. The liquid quickly filled the gnawing hunger that had begun to assail him. Replete he watched with longing as Tariq tore into the reptile's body, the sweet juices spilling onto her jaws, chin and chest. But he could not eat the poisonous meat. It had made him violently ill the one time he had tried. Two precious days had been lost while he had sweated, turning cold then hot as the poison of the lizard's carcass had worked itself out of his body. Since then fresh blood had become his food and drink, for in this part of the desert there was no plant life and no water for many leagues. He turned to watch the way they had come unable to endure the sight of Tariq at her feast. It seemed to him just for a moment that black dots moved upon the surface of the waste lands. But then he blinked and they were gone.

Elrohir was no longer recognisable as an elf, a son of an elven Lord, a noble warrior. He was losing himself to the wild. Grown leaner he wore only the blood stained and stinking hide that Tariq had won for him. His hair had reached almost down to his ankles in length and was matted with dirt, sweat and blood. His skin had become bronzed from the sun. His brows were always knitted, his eyes constantly searching, his chiselled face lacked any hint of civility. He operated on instinct alone and over the last weeks his instinct had been driving him ever southward. He had seen in Tariq's mind images of a desert realm filled with men, men armed with swords and spears, men dressed as those who had killed his companions and taken his brother. His only goal was to destroy them all and find Elladan. He kept the image of his brother foremost in his mind, he saw him laughing, smiling and looking at him with that funny tilt of the head that spoke of his annoyance.

"I come muindor." He whispered to the wind.

000000000

He swayed to the left as his horse stepped briskly over a coiled reptile that was hunting for its dinner. The thief Ah'lief reached out and steadied him. Aragorn turned to him with tired eyes and nodded his thanks. Veren who had noticed the incident reigned in his horse. The over bright eyes of Aragorn turned to him curiously.

"Why do we tarry?" questioned the ranger.

Turning his mount completely around Veren said,

"You are unable to ride and the day is almost spent, we will rest here till moonrise."

Aragorn sighed but did not argue for Veren was right. A tiredness had taken hold of him and would not let go. He would be of no use to anyone if he did not have the strength to fight at the end of the journey. And fight they would have to, for the Kingdom of Ak'tun was well guarded and the men, according to the thief, were fiercely loyal to their king.

As Aragorn began to dismount Ah'lief was there to lend a hand. Gratefully Aragorn leaned on him and slid gracelessly from his mount.

"Here sit, I will get thee water," said Ah'lief turning away.

But Aragorn caught hold of his arm and stopped him. He did not understand the thief's willingness to help them. He suspected that the man was leading them into a trap, but Ah'lief's brown eyes were clear and they held his probing gaze comfortably. Suddenly weary Aragorn dropped his eyes and mumbled an apology, smiling the thief said nothing but fetched one of the smaller skins of water they carried. He helped Aragorn to drink and then adjusting the folds of his robes sat cross legged on the hot sand.

As he watched the elves put their small camp together he began to speak,

"I know that you think me faithless man-elf, but I have no reason to be loyal to those of the south-most sands."

As Aragorn watched Ah'lief unwound the layers of cloth that made up his head piece. Aragorn gasped as the last fell away, for the thief 's head was so badly scarred that his thick black hair grew in ragged patches. So deep were some of the furrows across his scalp that white bone glistened from them. Shrugging the thief caused his robes to fall away from his shoulders revealing deep brands across his back and chest. Horrified Aragorn stared wordlessly, even the elves had gone still.

"I was once a favourite of the king, until the day nature made me seem unlovely to his eyes." Ah'lief explained quietly.  
"I barely escaped with my life. In fact I was placed outside the walls and left for dead." Ah'lief continued softly, his eyes gone distant with remembrance. "It rained that day in fact it poured as it does at odd times and I suppose it was this that saved me, for no animals came close to the walls to scavenge for food that day." he looked at Aragorn with glistening eyes.

"If I can spare your friend this I will. Too many have suffered at the king's hands already."

But Aragorn was robbed of speech and could do little but stare at the man.

Suddenly self conscious Ah'lief abruptly excused himself and went a short distance away to arrange his clothing. Aragorn continued to stare after him hearing his quiet sobs and wondered if his brother had already lost favour with the king.

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It is said that fate favours the strong and this seemed to be true, for Ak'tun awoke without reason to a darkened and silent room. He shook his head and breathed in deeply, his senses already reaching out, trying to understand the reason for his disturbed slumber. But he heard naught but the usual hushed night sounds of the palace. He turned his gaze to the open entrance way a feeling nagging at his mind, but then as the silence continued he relaxed. And as he did his thoughts drifted and an image filled his memory and he smiled. Waking completely now, he left the warmth of his bed and proceeded down the long corridors to the room where his _sha'abla_ slept. He could taste his silken skin still, he wanted to look at him in his slumber, drink in the smell and touch of him...

It lay there, obscene somehow, its jaw gaping wide open and abandoned. Ak'tun knelt slowly and took up the Mithril collar, his fingers caressed its cold countenance. To have been betrayed so blatantly. Ak'tun felt the heat of rage begin to rise in him.

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They stayed frozen as the echoes of the fallen lantern died away. Elladan's eyes were huge in his thin and sallow face, his lower lip trembled in anxious denial. Ah'med shivered foreseeing an end to his boldness in each reverberating sound. As silence descended he accepted his doom,

"Quickly ahead of me now, keep your hand on the right wall and run, run child, run as you never have, we may yet see the light of the wastelands."


	10. Chapter 10

The Road

The surface of the wall was rough under his fingers, cutting into his skin as he ran in the darkness. It seemed endless to him, a twisting, tortuous passage that ran deep within the bowels of the earth. He could hear some distance behind him Ah'med's wheezing breath and the shuffling of the old man's feet. It spurred him on for the heat seemed to press down on him, a solid mass of stagnant air that stifled him. Thus, he stopped often, not because he did not know the way but because despair threatened to swamp him. He could smell the sour scent of his own body in the stale air he could smell the sickly sweet sweat of Ak'tun on his skin. Why was he running? What place was there to go? He could never return to Rivendell, not without his brother, not carrying such shame in his heart. The wastelands then, but it would swallow him whole, bleach him dry, turn him into nothing more than dust. He could not hope to exist out there. He was nearly naked, alone and hurting, better to stop, give up, die here lost and forgotten. But each time he thought this he would see his brother's eyes, the look of pain on his face as he fell to the ground the knife deep in his side. The memory kept him moving.

The passage spilled into a wide cavern without warning and he stumbled, going down on his knees as suddenly there was nowhere left to run. Solid rock beneath his fingers, solid rock all around. They were trapped like rodents in a hole.

"No," the word was pulled out of him as he sank slowly to the ground.

His heart pounded dangerously in his chest but Ah'med pushed himself forward.

"Almost there, almost there." he chanted breathlessly. He hobbled out into the cavern the lantern's feeble light giving out a slight glow in the darkness. He saw the elf just sitting there, his face streaked with dirty tears.

"Are you hurt child?" Ah'med inquired anxiously, more than a little out of breath.

The elf shook his head, he stared up at Ah'med frowning. Did the old man not see there was nowhere left to run?

"Good, good," Ah'med wheezed. He took the satchel from his shoulder and pulled forth a crudely woven robe. "Here," he said holding it out to Elladan, "put this on, you will need its protection."

But Elladan made no move to take the garment,

"What ails thee _father_, can you not see the way is barred." he cried out.

"Oh," said Ah'med looking about him for the first time. "No, no child this is not the way. You must climb." he said and he pointed above their heads.

They both looked up. Elladan saw nothing but more darkness. But an errant gust of wind must have blown up on the surface for a gentle touch of clean air wafted down to him. His resultant burst of laughter was just a touch short of hysteria.

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Tariq reared high as the scent, that hated scent filled her nostrils. Elrohir grabbed onto the rough fur at her neck at the same time clamping his knees together. His bare toes fought to find purchase in the thick fur on her back.

"What! What is it?" he shouted and though his words were not understood, her mind linked to his so smoothly that he smelled what she smelled, he understood her hatred. Images of browns and reds, steel, death, blood. Men she smelled men of the desert down on the plateau below.

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The wind had picked up, blowing grit, chunks of stone and sand into the air. The elves and men pulled their hoods up around their faces to protect their eyes.

"The entrance to the underground passageway is here." Ah'lief shouted as they dismounted. They huddled together seeking protection from the wind among the tall outcroppings of rocks.

"Where?" shouted Veren as he pulled his cloak tightly around his body.

The wind suddenly whipped up a swirl of sand. It blew into Aragorn's face and he coughed, spitting out a mouthful of debris.

"I do not remember the precise place but it is here, hidden between these rocks!" Ah'lief shouted back.

Keeping a careful hold on the hood of his cloak Veren swept the area with his eyes. The huge formations were packed densely over a wide area. Searching for a concealed opening would be difficult at best, even without the vicious wind that seemed determined to batter them to bits against the sharp edges all around.

"Search then, but be careful, we cannot afford to lose any of our number!" Veren shouted to his companions.

"Aragorn come with me!" he called.

But Aragorn was distracted, he was sure he had seen something moving on the slopes, something dark and huge. He shaded his eyes with his hands but the sand was getting everywhere...

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The wind blew strong, ruffling the fur that covered her body. A storm was coming, a terrible storm, one that would cover the wastelands with deep drifts of sand. Soon they would have to find shelter. But that was not important right now. First there were the men, she could see them better for she had almost reached the plateau. They were scrambling over the rocks ahead of her. She would see them dead every single one of them. She would slay them, she would rip them apart the same way they had killed her younglings. She would eat their flesh and drink their blood.

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By the time he had climbed up to the first ledge Elladan was glad for the robe Ah'med had insisted he wear. Its rough weave protected his skin from the jagged edges of the rocks. Added to that the broad surfaces of the larger stones were so smooth that it was difficult to gain purchase. Many times he had slipped only to be saved by the cloth catching onto some uneven corner. Even so much of his exposed skin was covered with tiny cuts.

Sweating but victorious he lay carefully along the ledge and anchored his feet. He looked down to see Ah'med looking up at him. In the dim halo of light given off by the lantern the old man appeared ghostly.

"Come on," Elladan called.

But Ah'med only smiled and shook his head. "I am too old to climb child."

Elladan gaped at him in disbelief for a moment.

"You cannot stay here, he will kill you for aiding me!"

"Yes," Ah'med replied simply.

"Please Ah'med I will help you, come with me. I will take you to my father's lands." Elladan begged his hand reaching out into the distance between them.

But Ah'med shook his head stubbornly, "My place is here child. I could live nowhere else."

Elladan opened his mouth to plead with him once again but said nothing as at that moment they both heard a sound. The unmistakeable scrape of a boot on sand. Elladan's eyes grew wide.

"Ah'med!" he cried, his hand grasping at the empty air.

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	11. Chapter 11

11

It slid in so easily that at first Ah'med did not feel a thing. But then with a twist of his wrist Ak'tun pushed it in deeper and Ah'med shivered, the pain so bad that from his open mouth not a sound came. Blood poured from the edges of the sword like a fountain. Above them Elladan screamed a piercing denial. But Ak'tun had caught Ah'med in a deadly embrace, pulled close to his chest Ah'med trembled while Ak'tun kissed his cooling forehead.

"Rest now _m'dallin _you have served me well." he whispered at the old man's ear.

Ak'tun could feel the warm pulse of the old man slowing as more and more of his blood coursed down his torso to puddle at his feet.

Through his pain Ah'med could hear Elladan crying out his name.

'Run child, climb, do not let him catch you,' he thought as his knees buckled and his body shook. 'Stupid old man,' he thought, 'You were too slow.'

And then with a soft sigh Ah'med died.

Ak'tun caught him as he slumped and knelt to lay him gently on the ground. There were tears in the desert man's eyes, how could Ah'med betray him so? But then the harsh sobbing from above interrupted his musings. Looking up he could just about see the elf's pale face. Leaving the corpse he stood,

"Come here _di'alla_, I will not hurt you." he called.

A scream was building in Elladan, a scream of outrage and pain. But as he watched the blood pool around Ah'med's still form a coldness began to fill him, a numbness took hold of his heart. He got to his feet like a broken doll and stood at the edge of the platform of rock. Below him Ak'tun smiled for he thought that the elf obeyed.

"Yes _sha'abla _come," he said opening his arms. Elladan stared down at him, his face wooden and then without another thought he stepped out into nothing.

A shout of fear froze in Ak'tun's throat as the elf plummeted to the cave floor, in fact a shriek escaped the desert king as the elf hit the unyielding stone hard. But even as Ak'tun rushed forward in concern the elf rolled to his feet.

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Aragorn saw the big bear-thing loom out of the darkening sky, he watched in horrid fascination as the monster closed in on him. To scream would be pointless for the wind would snatch his voice away before he had even finished articulating it. A massive paw with deadly claws descended towards him. Even as he flinched he felt himself being pushed out of harm's way. He stumbled, recovered and turned to watch Veren who had drawn his sword in an attempt to do battle with the monster. But the bear- thing was terrible in its anger and its paw hit Veren hard. The force spun him around and he crashed full face into the hard stone. As he fell Aragorn screamed, rushing to aid him even as the bear-thing turned its attention to him.

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Ak'tun drew up abruptly in astonishment, the elf was unharmed, a fall from such a distance would have killed a lesser creature. Yet he reigned in his wonder for there was a look of such hatred and defiance on the elf's face that it made him pause.

"You wish to kill me _sha'abla." _he questioned softly, he took a step to one side. "You wish to see my blood on your hands." he stepped carefully to the side again.

Elladan said nothing, but cold anger burned in him. He turned with Ak'tun keeping the desert man in front him at all times.

"So be it," said Ak'tun quietly.

There was a flash of silver as the desert man blurred into action.

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"No," cried Aragorn. He threw himself over Veren's still form and tucked his head down. But the wind played havoc with them. It tugged at him even as he struggled to stay down. It pulled at his cloak, it blinded him with heavy grit. He could not see the bear-thing any more. He could see nothing. But she could see him. He cried out as the heavy weight of the bear-thing's paws hit his unprotected back.

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With a cry of pain Elladan rolled away from Ak'tun thrust. The deadly knife was long, as thin as a whip and as sharp as any elven sword. And now it was stained with his blood. Ak'tun was breathing heavily but this was from excitement not tiredness, but Elladan was already stumbling, the strength that had come from his anger waning in the face of a one-sided battle.

"Cease this nonsense now and I will show you mercy." Ak'tun crooned, "Continue and I will make you beg for death!"

Elladan stared at him for a moment. His face was pale and stained with blood. His body sweated and stank. His limbs trembled and his heart raced, but he defiantly tossed his head and said. "I have seen your mercy desert man, I want none of it."

Ak'tun laughed as a shiver of pleasure ran through him, he longed to run his fingers through the heavy weight of the elf's long hair even now. How stubbornly he stood there, his beautiful face full of pain, his tasty body trembling with effort.

"Well said _sha'abla._ You are indeed worthy of my affections." Ak'tun responded.

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The powerful blow ripped the cloak from Aragorn's shoulders and dragged him away from Veren's still form. It was fortunate for him that he wore such a cloak for the bear-thing's claws briefly became entangled in its folds. Aragorn's head went up as he stared at the beast. His back was against the rocks now, his sword broken in its scabbard. His heart pounded in fear deafening him as the thing rose on its hind legs. So close were the others yet so far, for they could not see or hear the battle that raged right next to them. The howl of the wind would make a mockery of any cries for help. The thing rose on its hind legs and as it did Aragorn pushed himself to his feet. He would not die a craven fool.

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Ak'tun's plan was dreadfully simple. He did not intend to kill the elf or inflict any real harm, but to tire him until he could be subdued easily. Therefore he did not allow the elf to close with him. Instead he forced the creature to defend himself from delicate flicks of his knife. Shallow cuts soon decorated the elf's arms and chest. Shallow cuts that annoyed him and drained his energy . Ak'tun paused to admire the elf as he staggered back, avoiding once again the edge of the knife. The ties of the elf's robe had come undone and the garment hung precariously from his hips. Greed was flooding Ak'tun's heart, the desire to possess, to use, to hurt, greed for sensuous pleasure. It was time to end this foolishness. With deliberate cruelty he slashed at the elf's eyes.

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With a cry of defiance Aragorn pulled a knife from his boot and readied himself for battle unto death. But the bear-thing did not attack. It seemed frozen in the sea of blowing sand. As he watched it seemed to Aragorn that a part of the creature undulated and separated itself . He moaned as that part of the creature, slid to the ground growing legs as it landed. Smaller yet more menacing it approached Aragorn slowly. Shaking with fear but determined to fight Aragorn held out his blade threateningly.

"Back you spawn of Morgoth, back."

Surprisingly the thing stopped. Sand blew around them and the wind howled, but the two of them were frozen in a frightening pose. Then, it seemed to Aragorn that the thing removed its head.

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Fire, fire across his face, his eyes, he could not see! An awful scream was ripped from his throat and he stumbled backward, his hands flying to his face, Ak'tun followed him, watching with great amusement as he stumbled about. The elf went down and began to crawl away from him. But Ak'tun caught hold of his hair and kept him from moving. Elladan moaned in pain and quite deliberately Ak'tun kicked him solidly behind the ear. The elf fell heavily to the ground, barely conscious. Ak'tun knelt then and gently moved the heavy hair off his face. Bright red blood ran from the wound that went diagonally from forehead to cheek. The cut was deep but it would heal well, as did all the bruises and wounds he had inflicted on the elf so far. Ak'tun knelt lower and kissed the red blood from the elf's lips. Perfection. Elladan barely felt anything. He may have mumbled as rough, eager hands undid the ties at his waist. He weakly grasped at Ak'tun's wrist as the desert man patiently removed the robe from his lower body, but Ak'tun took the questing hand kissed it reverently and moved it away...


	12. Chapter 12

12

It came towards him through the swirling sands and he thrust blindly for the wind had whipped up the desert to such a frenzy that it seemed that very air was made of sand. His blow struck nothing but air and he lunged again, but this time the monster took hold of his wrist. Coldly it wrenched Aragorn's wrist until he screamed and the knife fell from his aching hand. Only then did it release him. Afraid Aragorn looked up expecting to see his enemy over him. But there was nothing but sand and wind. The thing seemed to have disappeared in the storm. Cradling his wrist Aragorn struggled to his feet. He must get to Veren, get to shelter from the sand storm. But when he turned he knew he was in trouble. He could see nothing, for the sky had grown dark with sand and grit. He could see nothing ahead of him or anywhere he looked. He dropped to his hands and knees and with his head down began to feel his way along the desert floor, the rocks should be to his back shouldn't they?

Stone and sand whipped him as he crawled and soon he was forced to stop when he realised that he had drifted away from the rocks. He must have been turned around in that short battle. He was going into the desert lands. In misery he covered his bleeding face with his hands. Several times he had called out to his companions though he knew the wind would steal his voice. Finally he curled in on himself and pulled his knees in tightly to his chest, mayhap he could ride out this storm.

But the storm was unfeeling and was one of the worse of the season. It began to bury him under a sheet of scree. Aragorn cried as the sands flayed the naked skin of his hands and face. He could feel the wind pushing him, forcing him onto his side as it covered him with a blanket of sand.

Tariq had lifted Elrohir away from Aragorn perceiving the danger in her own way. He had quite a task convincing her that they were family, just as her younglings had been. By then the storm had worsened and try as he might he could not find his brother. Each of the others they had found and by Tariq's nose alone had found the hidden entrance to the Kingdom of Ak'tun, for it was not a hole in the ground as Ah'lief had believed but a cavern, the entrance of which was nigh invisible between two massive pillars of rock. They would never have found it. Each of them, from the still unconscious Veren to the screaming man whom he did not recognise, he had taken to the cavern. Now he and Tariq searched the almost black landscape for Aragorn. He held onto her rough fur for even **he** could not see in the gathering gloom. Together they searched for almost an hour more until Tariq turned and butted the elf with her head. It was time to get out of the storm, it was dangerous for him now.

"Please," he cried "just a little further."

But the bear-thing was adamant, she butted him again, hard and he stepped back involuntarily tripping over something soft in the sands. He fell, hitting his backside hard, but he quickly got to his knees and scrabbling around latched onto a foot.

"Help me Tariq!" he called.

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They pulled the young man from under a growing hill of scree. Elrohir could not see him but he felt a suspicious stickiness on his arms and face. Aragorn was also pliant and still.

"Oh Aragorn," gasped Elrohir.

Veren shook his head to clear away the fog from his mind. In the almost perfect darkness his companions were gathered closely about him. He could sense their unease.

"What has happened?" he asked.

Before any of them could frame a reply, a rasping, grating noise from the entrance startled them into silence. Eight eyes tuned to the source of the sound. The thing that had brought each of them to this place struggled in, a body clasped to its chest.

"Help me," it cried as they stared at it, "he is hurt!"

"Elrohir!" Veren exclaimed...

The fire they made from dried bush that had blown in through the mouth of the cave over the years. A ring of hard rock helped to keep in the heat. They fussed over Aragorn and Elrohir equally, unable to believe that he was actually there. Aragorn recovered quickly with the aid of cool water and warmth. Meanwhile Veren gently disrobed the younger elf taking in his starved, bruised body with sad eyes. His face was all hollows and bronzed by the sun and there was a dazedness in his eyes that gave the elder elf pause. Elrohir told a tale of hardship, captivity and of release; of days of madness and then purpose. He spoke of Tariq, the monster they had all seen in the gloom of the storm as a companion, a mother, a friend. Veren stroked his tangled hair as Elrohir leaned into him seeking comfort.

"I did not find him, I have searched everywhere and I could not find him." he said in a faint voice.

"We will find him pen'neth." Veren promised.

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Ak'tun tossed the knife to one side. Slowly he knelt at the elf's side savouring the sight of his naked limbs. His hands trembled as he slowly ran them down the elf's back and buttocks. He could take him like this, but it was his wont to look into the face of his conquests to see their emotions laid bare, to experience their surrender time and time again. To kiss their pleading, trembling lips gave him tremendous satisfaction. And thus he caught hold of the elf's shoulder and tuned him onto his back. The elf's eyes were closed and his face was bloody. Without much effort Ak'tun straddled his waist. Sitting there he longed to see those hazel eyes stare into his, so he leaned down to whisper harsh words into his slave's ear. He would awaken or be whipped with the blade of his sword.

The elf's eyes opened but they were not the eyes he wished to see. These were not the frightened eyes that he had grown so accustomed to. These eyes were cold, yet aflame with a deep burning anger. There was a weight around Ak'tun's neck, a pressure that threatened to stop his breath. Too late flew his hands to his neck. Too late did he try to pull away from from his intended victim.

His hands wrapped around Ak'tun's thick neck, Elladan squeezed as though from his enemy's flesh he would draw water. He did not hear the awful sounds the desert king made, for in his ear there was only an awful roar of empty sound. He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed as hate flowed through him. He squeezed as he remembered his brother falling to the dry desert sands... There was a wet popping sound and suddenly Elladan let go.

Ak'tun fell to the ground heavily, his neck soft and mottled, his dark eyes half lidded. Elladan was grunting, his breath coming in heavy rasps as he recovered. In a sudden panic he kicked the desert man from his body going to a crouch as the body flopped over. Trembling he stared at the dead thing as though he expected it to rise and taunt him. But as the minutes passed and the dead thing did not move, his gasps turned to sobs and in the dark tunnel it was a heart wrenching sound. Minutes passed and and he found himself crawling, he did not know why until his hands encountered the cold flesh of his one time friend. The lantern still glowed and Elladan could see the wide pool of the man's blood congealing on the cave floor. Heedless he crawled to where Ah'med head lay. Cradling the old man's head he caressed his soft face.

"He is dead Ah'med, we are free." he said. He waited but there was no response.

"I will take you to my father," Elladan continued as a tear escaped his eyes and ran down his cheek, "you will live out your life in beauty and confort."

Then a sob escaped his throat, for the old man's eyes remained closed. "Yes sleep Ah'med, when you awaken I will take you to my father."

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Outside on the surface of the desert the sand storm raged. In the cavern the elves and men huddled together for warmth and comfort. Elrohir slept in Veren's arms as he had not done for the nine months since he had come to the desert lands. Celebrin covered him with his own cloak and carried the offensive smelling hide he had been wearing deeper into the cave.

The evening wore on and the cold air from the raging winds filtered into the cave. As the the temperature dropped, quiet conversation did too as one by one the elves and men were lulled into sleep. It must have been in the early hours of the morning that the sound eventually pulled Aragorn from sleep to wakefulness. Sitting up quietly he listened. It was a macabre sort of howling, faint yet steadily rising and falling as though the maker of the sound was in pain. Celebrin who was the closest to Aragorn also awoke,

"An animal?" he queried. But Aragorn shook his head slowly, he stared wide eyed at his companion for a moment.

"No, not an animal." he cried and scrambling to his feet began to look for the source of the sound. His frantic actions seemed mad to Celebrin and yet he joined the young man. Their movement woke the others...

A dark hole in the ground toward the very back of the cave.

"We need light." said Veren, for though the howling had ceased a sense of urgency gripped them all.

The climb was treacherous, a smooth staircase of fallen rock. Yet they all were eager to descend. At the very bottom, they stood in a passageway. A passageway that reeked of blood. Veren held the burning torch high. They saw the first corpse almost at their feet. The elves drew their swords, but Elrohir who had walked a bit ahead gave a great cry.

He was huddled against one wall of the cave the corpse of an old man clasped to his chest. His head was bowed, he was unclothe. Elrohir knelt in front of him as the others gathered behind. He placed a hands on his brother's arm and felt him shiver.

Elladan felt the cold hand of death upon his arm and raised his head, but it was not the risen shade of his enemy. It was his brother.

"You came for me." he whispered with a soft hiccup of laughter.

"Yes," Elrohir replied softly, seeing the madness in his brother's eyes. "will you come with me?"

"And my friend?" Elladan asked in a small voice.

"He as well." said Elrohir and he offered his arms for the dead man.

Very gingerly as if holding a new born, Elladan passed Ah'med into the waiting arms of his brother. Celebrin quietly stepped forward and took the old man's body from him. Elrohir now offered his arms to Elladan who hesitated just a moment. He had raised his eyes and looked past Elrohir. He saw there faces familiar to him. Then he turned to his brother and saw his burnt skin, his gaunt face.

"Will you take me home?" he asked.

"I will." said Elrohir.


	13. Chapter 13

The Desert

They left the cavern as soon as the storm had died away and buried the old man's body deep in the dry sands of the desert. It pained their hearts to see Elladan cradle the old man's gnarled hand in his, unwilling to let him go. But Elrohir gently pulled him away allowing the older elves to fill in the grave. The deep wound on Elladan's face and the ugly mottled mark around his neck had angered Elrohir greatly, but somehow he knew that the grotesquely sprawled body at the foot of the stone steps had paid the price.

The thief Ah'lief had stayed behind.

"I will go into the palace and guide to freedom any of my friends that still live."

"Will it not be dangerous for you?" Veren questioned.

"Not at these times, the soldiers are at home with their wives or women. The palace, aside from the guarded front entrance houses only slaves and servants."

"Seems a dangerous practice." Aragorn observed.

"Such was the pride of king." answered the thief with a small smile. "In the times of storms the palace is accustomed to long absences of the king, especially if his current choice is beautiful."

At this Elrohir who was tending to his brother tensed, and glared at the small man with anger.

"I meant no disrespect to you, my lord. I speak only the truth."

Mollified not at all Elrohir turned away, his stiff stance showing his unspoken displeasure.

But the others bid farewell to Ah'lief with genuine goodwill for without him, neither of the twins would have been found.

Tariq had happily eaten two of the five horses in the aftermath of the storm, thus they were at first dismayed for how could they travel these cruel sands without horses? But Elrohir assured them that she would take them as far as the edge of the moving sands.

Elladan, who would not be parted from his brother rode with him on the wild beast, seemingly oblivious to her stench. In fact since his first words in the cave he hardly spoke at all and when he did it was to say nothing that anyone could understand. He slept most of the day through and in the evening would stare out over the plains unaware of those around him.

Aragorn especially fretted over them. Though Elrohir seemed much better than his sibling, there was a wildness about him, a restless that would take hold of him and cause him to pace endlessly as the night moved on. He even seemed to be unable to abide their slow pace and would often travel miles ahead of them only to double back. At odd times he could be seen touching Elladan's hair and face as though reassuring himself that his brother was really there. The truth was that guilt would not let him rest for he had failed his brother when it had mattered the most.

For the first two weeks they stopped every night to rest for Elladan grew tired quickly, but thereafter camped every third night. On one such night the camp was quiet save for the sounds of deep breathing from Elladan and Aragorn. Elrohir eased away from Elladan whose head was pillowed on his lap, but Elladan did not even twitch, so deeply asleep was he. Elrohir crossed over to where Veren sat cross-legged in the sands. He knelt in front of the older elf his eyes shining in the starlight.

"He thinks he is dead. He thinks I take him to Valinor." he said brokenly.

Veren opened his arms and Elrohir sought comfort in them.

"He has suffered atrocities no one should have to bear, we have to be patient, all of us." Veren replied.

Elrohir did not respond but his body shook and Veren felt his sleeve grow damp.

"Let me tend him a while, Aragorn can ride with you for a few days."

For a moment Elrohir stiffened, but Veren began to hum and surreptitiously stroke along his spine. Stubbornly the younger elf resisted, but soon his body began to relax, his head found a comfortable spot on Veren's shoulder, his arms folded inward and his breathing deepened. Veren settled into a steadier position and let Elrohir sleep, for though he had said nothing he worried more about the younger than the older. Elrohir would give himself no peace until Elladan recovered.

It was an uncomfortable ride for Aragorn the next day. The stench of Tariq was almost unbearable that close, but Elrohir felt no discomfort. He laughed when Aragorn resorted to holding his cloak over his nose. The unexpected sound floated back to the others, Elladan who had been sitting lifelessly in front of Veren stirred and said Aragorn's name. Veren smiled, already the young human was having his usual effect on his brothers.

Elladan looked wearily at Aragorn as the young man helped the other elves gather dried brush for the fire. It had been so hot today yet now at dusk it was cool, almost cold. They had been travelling for so long now and yet there was an endless sea of sand ahead of them. He had finally begun to realise that he was still alive, but the knowledge caused him no joy. He reached up, unconsciously feeling for the silver collar but it was not there. He scratched at his neck but it felt so raw, that he let his hands fall to his lap. He shook his head then, tossing his thick hair away from his face. He longed for green, green every where as far as the eye could see and for water streaming over the smooth stones as it chuckled its way to the wide brook. As sleep overcame him he could see himself swimming in that clear water, washing himself clean. But suddenly he saw Ak'tun standing in that garden, beckoning him. Understandably he began to scream. He fought them as they struggled to calm him, slashing with clawed fingers at their faces and arms... Elrohir rocked him back and forth as hours later he still whimpered caught in the vision of his nightmare.

Though Elladan finally slept Elrohir could not, he paced the boundaries of their camp, his arms crossed about his body as though to keep out the cold. Veren watched him closely, but it was Aragorn who approached him.

"Stay away from me." he cautioned the young man.

But Aragorn was nothing if not stubborn. "That which was done to him, was not your fault."

Elrohir spun around his chest rising and falling rapidly with sudden anger.

"You know nothing!" he began, but Aragorn cut across him.

"I saw your wound Elrohir, you should have died."

"But I did not." Elrohir cried, turning away from Aragorn's too caring eyes.

"And thus you wish to punish yourself?"

"You do not understand Estel," he said softly, then he turned around. "I should have been able to protect him as he has always protected me."

Fro a moment they were both silent and then Aragorn said softly.

"Then protect him now my brother, he needs you."

Elrohir bowed his head. He did not resist as Aragorn lead him back to the others.

They bid farewell to the bear-thing two days and one night later. She had reached the boundaries of her territory and though she had grown fond of the youngling, it was time to go. He was safe she knew among his own kind and it was time for him to reclaim himself. But Elrohir felt nothing but loss and watched her until she was but a speck in the distance, he felt that a piece of himself went with her, but Aragorn was there at his side.

That night they built a fire, the two of them. When it was ready Elrohir asked for Aragorn's dagger. Unsure Aragorn glanced over to Veren who sat not too far away, but the older elf merely nodded. Elrohir took it and before anyone could guess his intention quickly cut away at the mass of his hair. A horrified Aragorn looked on with huge eyes as the elf cut and cut until there was but a cap of uneven hair on his head. He dropped the shorn hair into the fire where it burned brightly before it disappeared and with its disappearance he seemed to let go of whatever burden he had carried.

They had so far travelled four weeks across the unforgiving sands. The ground below them had changed from stony to soft shifting sands and then to hard packed earth. They had begun to see vegetation, small strands of green nestled next to ever numerous rocks. They had avoided all villages but one the week before, because their supplies had run dangerously low. Veren estimated that they still had two weeks of travel before they reached the edge of the desert. Though this was good news for the group there was about them an air of tension and worry. Elladan had grown more withdrawn as the days went by. He seemed unaware of much around him and would often scratch at his neck until it began to bleed. Elrohir was with him constantly but even he could not seem to bring peace to his brother. None of them could know that the answer was very simple. Elladan carried the smell of Ak'tun on his skin for though they had cleaned his wounds there had not been enough water to truly cleanse him.

Eyes red rimmed from another mostly sleepless night, Elladan dully watched the sky turn from bright blue to dull grey. The others grew restless seeing in the sky the sign of another sand storm. Veren scanned their back trail seeing a wall of grey advancing on them. Worriedly he looked around though he knew there was no shelter to be had.

"Come together and keep your wits about you!" he shouted as a roar of sound, the advance guard of the storm washed over them.

They huddled together, lying as close to each other as possible their cloaks pulled tightly about them. The first drops hit them hard, cold and heavy they splashed on their tense bodies. In shock they parted, sitting up as the first rains of the wet season began. There were shouts of joy as they slowly stood letting the rains beat down on them. But the most joyful of them all was Elladan and he stood arms spread wide face upturned while the water washed him clean.

Watching him Veren could not help but smile for Elladan stood naked in the downpour. He could see some of the misery in his soul washing away with rain. His eyes flicked to Elrohir and Aragorn who were capering about like mad elflings. With at least one more month left to their journey there were still hardships ahead but now at least he felt confidant that they would make it home safely.

The end


End file.
